


home in time for tea

by dancinghopper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, but like. several of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29462052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinghopper/pseuds/dancinghopper
Summary: "You know what every other version of you did after 'gripping him tight and raising him from perdition'? They did what they were told."or:Okay, so Dean should keep his hands to himself around dodgy spells, dually fucking noted. It's not like heaskedto get trapped in a victory tour of his own alternate realities. None of them are really that victorious, anyway, thanks very much, so he'd kind of like his money back. Also, uh, for some reason him and Cas are like... not best friends? In any of them? It fucking sucks, dude. He wants to go home. He's probably gonna kiss Cas on the mouth when he does.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 55





	1. Dean Fucks Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i dont write for literal months and then other times i sit down and im like HEY lets write 3000 words in one sitting. its the adhd
> 
> anyway im obsessed with the idea that cas and dean only happen in one universe. fuck soulmates they literally CHOSE each other they are a ONCE IN A LIFETIME thing and its about time they (mainly dean) realise how fucking monumental that is. that said this is pretty lighthearted bc i refuse to be sad ab dean winchester. i already do that enough <3

Fucking witches, man. It’s always the goddamn witches.

If Dean’s being honest, the witches don’t pose an _actual_ problem until he’s three days into the hunt, and even then it is kind-of-maybe-possibly-almost-definitely his own fault for poking about without the necessary precautions, but _whatever_. He was having such a great week, too. Sam was off helping out Jody with a wayward shifter, and Cas was around, and it seemed the natural conclusion to bundle Cas up in the Impala to deal with this missing teenager over in Oregon. It’d been ages since they’d worked a case.

And it was going great, too. Dean’s not even exaggerating. They barely had to poke around the kid’s bedroom before discovering her little witch’s altar in her closet, and Dean had just reached out to poke a candle before Cas had grabbed his wrist, squinting and with a little crease between his eyebrows that meant he was puzzling over something.

“Wait,” Cas had said, his fingers warm on Dean’s skin. “You shouldn’t disturb the spell. It might be a clue.”

Which, like, Dean _knew_ that, he’s only been doing this since he was four years old, but Cas is fairly new to the hunter game and it maybe perked Dean up a little further to find out he’d been paying attention. He’d grinned at him, way too chipper for someone who was meant to be investigating a missing girl. At least the parents weren’t around to see.

“Nice catch, man,” Dean said, and let their hands fall back down between them. Cas’ touch lingered longer than was necessary before breaking away, and that was awesome, too. Dean gestured at the set-up of crystals and markings, cataloguing the runes. “You recognise any of this?”

They had books at the motel, but Cas was quicker and right here, so it was better to take advantage. He hummed, tilted his head to the side. “It’s jumbled,” he said. “But it seems sound. The work itself is amateur, but the spell is perfectly legitimate.”

“Great,” Dean had sighed. “So we got a teenager hopped up on mojo. Awesome.”

Anyway, that had been two days ago, before Dean’s epic fuck up and subsequent handcuffing in a basement. His own basement, no less. This is worse than the acid trip with Zachariah.

“Look, man, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” says Dean, as Other Dean pulls the knife from Proper Dean’s boot. Other Dean frowns, scrutinises it by turning it upside down, and then draws his eyebrows in even further, a surly set to his brow. Dude’s gonna get wrinkles. “Look, would you do the tests, already?”

“Shut up,” snaps Other Dean, and Dean sighs, banging his head back against the filing cabinet. This isn’t even his _fault_. Or, well, yeah, maybe it is, and maybe he shouldn’t have gone fucking around with the spell, but he was trying to save the girl! That’s a noble cause! Cas is so gonna kill him.

Other Dean putters around a bit, gets out his silver blade, and Dean submits to it without a fight. The dude’s already got him handcuffed, after all, and it’s not like Dean’s gonna fight _himself_. The rest of it is all stuff Dean’s done before, which is a weird thing to think about, so he kind of does it on auto-pilot, although he does briefly wonder how many times he’s gonna be required to drop the Rhonda Hurley story. It’s a hole-in-one, but it’s not like Dean’s queueing up to spit it out.

“Touche,” says Other Dean, and Dean pulls a face, like, _yeah, dude, that’s what I’ve been saying_. He twirls Dean’s knife in his fingers, and Dean _is_ jealous of that, actually. Why the hell hasn’t he learnt to do that, yet? That’s so going on the list. “What year are you from, then?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” says Dean. His wrist is starting to hurt, and he rubs at where the metal’s digging in. “This one. This isn’t a Delorean joint, dude, it’s the Mirror ‘Verse.”

Other Dean raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, man.” Dean jerks the cuffs, shifts a little before he loses all his blood flow to his legs. “Look, I touched something I wasn’t s’posed to, alright? Just call Cas and get him to send me back, that’s all I’m asking.”

“What was it?” asks Other Dean. He’s relaxed, kind of, but Dean is still fucking cuffed and he is apparently gonna have to learn to start trusting himself more, because this _sucks_. He sighs, and averts his eyes. Best get it over with.

“It was— some kid witch’s spell. I mighta read it out loud.”

“Oh, great,” says Other Dean. “Bizarro Me’s a moron, good to know.”

Dean glares. “Yeah, fine, laugh it up, fuzzball. Look, I didn’t know it’d _work_ , alright? We just knew that the girl had gone missing, and that she was really into that sci-fi crap. Parallel universes and shit. She was trying to find some way of getting to a world where her best friend hadn’t killed herself.”

Other Dean’s eyebrows shoot up again. Dean snorts. “Yeah, I know, it was grim. Anyway, I didn’t think— I mean, I dunno where she learned it, ‘cause that’s heavy stuff, but obviously it worked, because, well. I’m here.”

Other Dean sighs. “ _Dude._ Where the hell was Sam, during this?”

“Minnesota. Just me and Cas on this one. Speaking of, can we get him here, already? Make him mojo me back, I’ll be right outta your hair.”

Later, when Dean has to recount this fucking nightmare to Sam, because he’s a geek and won’t shut up until he’s heard the whole story (although Dean leaves several choice bits out, but that’s for Sammy’s own good), Dean points out that this is where he’d put an ad break, if it was TV. You know, for dramatic effect. Because Other Dean says:

“Who’s Cas?”

And that’s when it all goes from bad to worse.

***

“What?” says Dean, absolutely blindsided, which is maybe embarrassing but so far this world had seemed pretty much the same to his. Like, same car, same bunker, same boots on Other Dean’s feet. “What the fuck do you mean, who’s Cas?”

Other Dean gives him a look like he’s stupid. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I _mean_ , moron, _who’s Cas?_ ”

Dean splutters. He’s having a day, alright. He can’t be expected to make sense. “Cas! It’s— you know. Cas. The angel. Dorky little guy in a trenchcoat. Are you saying you don’t have a fucking _Cas_?”

Other Dean squints at him. His eyebrows do something weirdly caterpillar like, which Dean hopes his own don’t do, because it looks way too much like his fucking Dad, and then he says; “Wait— _Castiel?_ Zachariah’s bitch?”

Dean’s eyes bug, because that’s freakin’ harsh, man. He stares up at his other self in bewilderment, panicking only a normal amount. “I— I fucking guess? Shouldn’t he be here?”

“Uh,” says Other Dean. “No? Castiel’s dead.”

“ _What?_ ” Dean doesn’t sound shrill at all. He _doesn’t_. He clears his throat, shifts his weight. “Like, for real?”

“Yeah,” says Other Dean, like it’s obvious. “He died, like, ages ago. Right after I got outta hell. Barn fight with Anna and Uriel.”

Dean swallows, and experiences a renewed sense of how much he’s fucked up. He tries to get a handle on something logical, because if there’s no Cas, then how is literally anything still fucking standing? Shouldn’t it all have crashed and burned by now?

“But— if Cas is dead, how did you stop the apocalypse? He was like, a big player in that.”

“Uh,” says Other Dean. “Anna. Duh."

_“Anna?!”_

“Yeah,” says Other Dean, looking kind of put off by Dean’s crazy eyes, but what the fuck ever, this is already too fucking weird, so Dean doesn’t care. “Dude, calm the fuck down, why are you fucking _flickering?_ ”

Dean manages to get himself, like, forty percent of the way calm before the ground lurches underneath him, just like the way it did back in Willow Trout’s bedroom, and then suddenly the bunker’s gone, his hands are free, and he’s standing in the middle of a highway. It’s night. Dean heaves out a big breath, puffing out his cheeks, and tries to adjust to the motion sickness, propping himself up via his hands to his knees. He’s never gonna complain about riding with Cas again. Whatever _that_ was (inter-dimensional travel, he fucking hopes not) it was worse than a freaking plane.

“Jesus,” Dean mutters, looking up at the sky, and runs his hand through his hair. He reaches for his cell, then remembers that Other Dean took it, which, _great_. Just great. He better be back in his own fucking universe, because if not he is gonna _throw something_. And there’s not much around to throw, so he’s probably gonna end up ripping up a street sign just so he has something to toss. And he really doesn’t wanna do that.

“Hey, Cas?” he tries, “You got your ears on? I could use a pick up. I, uh, did exactly what you told me not to, and fucked around with the spell.”

There’s zip. Nada. Not even a cricket chirping on the motorway. Dean sighs.

“ _Castiel_. Come on, man. I know it’s like, bad manners to phone you like a taxi service, but I really am stranded.”

To Dean’s immense satisfaction, there’s an almost imperceptible flap of wings behind him. He always has liked an entrance, the dramatic little fucker, but Dean’s willing to give it to him this time. He spins on his heel, already grinning, but then it promptly drops because this… is not Cas. Dean’s hopes of being home fly briskly out the window, do not pass GO do not collect two hundred dollars. Fuck.

“I am very busy, Dean,” says Castiel, “I’ve asked you not to call except in emergencies.”

“Uh,” says Dean. “Sure. Well, this is one. I’m not Dean.”

Castiel squints at him. “Yes, you are.”

“Well, yeah,” says Dean, “but not _your_ Dean. I wound up in the wrong universe. It was an accident.”

Castiel blinks at him. “I’m not sure I understand. There is no _my_ Dean.”

Dean colours, and tries to bluster his way through it. “No, yeah, obviously, I mean— I mean I’m not, uh, the Dean from your universe. Bona fide copy, though. Look at this jawline.”

He shows it off, but Cas isn’t amused. Dean’s stomach drops.

“Look, dude, I was investigating this witch, and I got zapped. I’d really like to get home, though. I’ve already had one creepy dinner with myself.”

“Hm,” says Castiel, and reaches out to tap two fingers to Dean’s forehead. The world spins.

“A little fucking _warning_ , Cas,” snaps Dean, except he doesn’t, it’s just his voice, and oh, great, Dean’s stuck with his fucking twin again.

“Woah,” says Other Dean, looking between them and actually fucking registering what’s standing in Bobby’s living room. “What the hell?”

Dean wrenches out from under Cas’ touch. “ _Dude_ , seriously? I said send me home, not make me sit through this again.”

Castiel barely moves a muscle. Other Dean’s hand has flown to his gun, perching precariously on the handle as he tries to figure out what’s happening. Dean sighs and flops onto the couch.

“It’s remarkable,” says Castiel. “Your souls are the same, yet different. I can vouch that this _is_ you, Dean, or at least a version of you.”

“Peachy,” says Other Dean. “Now get the hell out of my house.”

There’s way too much bite in his tone, so Dean snaps his head up, trying to figure out what the hell’s wrong. Castiel is standing almost six feet away from Other Dean, so either he finally got the memo about personal space (which, admittedly, Dean stopped administering a while ago, but, uh, whatever. This isn’t about him) or they’re fighting. The latter is almost certainly not a good sign, because Dean needs to be in Cas’ good graces in order to get zapped home.

“Um,” says Dean, and Other Dean darts to look at him, “Yeah, hi. I just wanna go home, so— if you guys could stop with your little spat for a second…”

Other Dean makes a face. He glances at Cas. “Dude, did you addle him?”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

Something is so, _so_ weird about this. Cas is looking at Other Dean blankly, almost disinterested, which feels wrong, and just as Dean thinks he might be getting somewhere, the ground lurches again and he’s stuck in the Impala’s back seat.

“Oh, what the fuck,” says Dean, and the car swerves. “Am I on a fucking victory tour?”

“What the _fuck_ ,” demands Other Dean, wild in the rear view mirror. Sam swears, trying to land a punch on Dean from the passenger side even as the car’s sliding all over the highway, ‘cause apparently Sam can’t even recognise his own brother. Dean throws his arms up in front of his face, sinking down in the backseat as he tries to avoid Sam’s gigantic fucking hands, and also tries not fly through the windshield.

“Dude, chill out! It’s me! Fucking _Christ_ —”

He gets unceremoniously pulled out of the car as soon as it stops spinning, ending up on his back and with himself standing over him. It ain’t a bad view until Other Dean plants a swift fist to his jaw. Dean kicks at him.

“ _Ow_ , Jesus _Christ_ —”

“What the fuck do you want?” demands Other Dean, and lands another one. Dean panics, and blurts out: “Rhonda Hurley!”

It is, admittedly, effective. He has to go through the whole rigmarole again, with the holy water and the salt and the silver blade, but eventually Sam and Other Dean are convinced enough to stop trying to kill him. Small fucking victories. Sam hands him an ice-pack from the glove box, Other Dean gone off to brood and contemplate over by the next mile marker. He’s such an asshole.

“Here,” Sam says, and Dean presses it to his face. He’s parked himself on the Impala’s hood, which pissed off his alternate self and kick-started the brooding, and now Sam sits next to him, resting his heels on the bumper as if Dean hasn’t told him a thousand and one fucking times not to.

“Thanks, Sammy,” he says, and Sam’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Been a long time since I’ve heard that,” he says, because, yeah, that makes sense. Dean winces as his jaw cracks, twists towards Sam.

“So, come on,” he says. “What’s different in this one? Is it too much to hope you can ring up heaven and get me zapped back?”

Sam laughs. “Uh, yeah, dude, I think you’re on the phone with it right now.”

He nods over at Other Dean, who is, in fact, on the phone. Thank God. Dean raises his eyebrows in appreciation, scrutinises Sammy’s face. It certainly _looks_ like his _dealing-with-Dean-and-Cas’-bullshit_ expression, so that’s something. Dean perks up a bit.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Sam, and then says, way too knowingly, “Eager to get back to _your_ angel, huh?”

Dean doesn’t flush. He fucking doesn’t. “Shut up, Sam.”

Sam laughs, and nudges his knee. “Hey, no, it’s kind of nice. Good to think that you guys find each other, even in alternate worlds.”

It takes real fucking commitment for Dean to remain cool. His jaw twitches from the effort. “Right.”

Sam squints. “Oh. Are you, uh… are you guys not…?”

“No,” says Dean, tightly, and wills Sam to drop it. Sam doesn’t.

“Hey,” he says, “don’t worry. It’ll work out, for sure.”

“Right,” says Dean, even though it won’t. Cas is an _angel_ , and angels can’t feel, not like humans, so it’s a moot fucking point. Other Dean wanders back over, shoulders clenched and hiked up to his ears. He waves his phone at them.

“Cavalry’s on its way,” he says. “Should be here in just a sec, to figure out how to stop Sam seeing double.”

There’s a rustle of wings. It’s subtle, but Dean’s tuned into it by now, and it brings a sense of relief that has him easing up, just a bit. Sam’s face twitches. Other Dean says; “Hey, sweetheart.”

It’s fucking Anna.

“Hello, Dean,” says Anna, to Other Dean, and then looks at Dean. “Hello.”

“Anna,” says Dean, a little colder than he should have, if the way Other Dean and Sam stiffen up is any indication. He wills himself to stay relaxed. “What’s up?”

Anna smiles at him. It _is_ kind of a sweet one, but Dean still feels disappointed, for some reason. It can’t have been more than, like, two hours in real time, but he misses Cas, and he misses his own fucking universe.

“It seems you’ve encountered a displacement spell,” says Anna, and reaches for him. Dean flinches. Hurt flashes in her eyes, and she glances at Other Dean, who looks fucking murderous. Dean swallows.

“Uh, no offence,” Dean says, “but in my world you kinda tried to kill me. Twice.”

“Oh,” says Anna, and tilts her head to that one fucking angle, and it feels like a punch to the gut. “Oh, I see. I’m not the one you’re missing.”

Dean shifts. “No, not really. But, uh, if you could send me back, that’d be swell.”

“This is powerful magic, Dean,” she says. “I can see it entwined with your soul. You’ll have no choice but to endure the spell’s course.”

Of course. Of fucking course. “Any idea how long that’s gonna take?”

Anna shakes her head. “I’m sorry. The spell was designed to take the caster to a universe of their choosing, but it doesn’t appear to have been successfully enacted. You will likely flitter between a myriad of futures before eventually returning to your own.”

Okay, that could be worse. Dean shoots her a hopeful look. “Eventually?”

She smiles. “Yes. The magic itself is powerful, but travel between worlds is difficult to sustain. Inevitably it will fall under itself, and you will return home.”

“Oh,” says Dean. “Okay, I can deal with that. Hey, any chance you can get Cas down here? I miss that son of a bitch.”

Anna blinks at him. Her head jerks back just slightly, almost bird-like in the action. Sam stiffens beside him.

“Castiel?” she repeats, and once again looks to Other Dean. “I— no. I can’t.”

God, Dean just cannot catch a break. “Oh, man, don’t tell me you guys are pissed at each other in this ‘verse, too.”

“Hey, shut the fuck up,” snaps Other Dean. “Why the fuck do you care about Castiel?”

Dean opens his mouth to say _because he’s my friend_ , but then he’s getting catapulted off somewhere different again, landing flat on his back in the woods, of all places.

“This is getting real old,” says Dean, aloud. He stays where he is a while, catching his breath and thinking about how night before last his biggest problem was stomaching his way through Willow Trout’s diary, looking for clues about her disappearance. He’d nicked it from her room and taken it to the motel, and Cas was drawing links between her disappearance and other happenings around town, his coat folded over the chair. Sam had called to check in around nine. An old western had been on. Dean had made Cas watch it.

It’s always the fucking witches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anna's role in this is based off the fact that she was originally meant to be dean's angel guide! and that cas was meant to die before he manifested himself into a real personal and said "actually no fuck you eric kripke im gonna stick around for twelve more years and then marry your male power fantasy". thee gay icon


	2. Dean Fucks Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Dude,” Other Dean says. “Are you fucking insane?”_
> 
> _“What?” says Dean, even as he wrings out his hand. “It’s just Cas.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no promises about update schedules this just simply Does Not Want To Leave Me Alone :-0

This time yesterday, Dean was investigating a revived cat.

It was to do with the witches, of course. A young boy’s pet had miraculously healed itself after neighbours saw it crushed by a car, which, yeah, that was suspicious. Mittens wasn’t even usually allowed out. The parents weren’t super helpful, because they were self-described ‘rational adults’ who had trouble buying into the idea that one week previously their cat had been roadkill, and yet was now licking itself and enjoying the sun. Dean decided not to mention that he had personal experience with the whole ‘dying and coming back’ thing, and instead interviewed the kid, who proved to be much more bearable.

“That’s rough, pal,” Dean said, kneeling down in front of him while Cas was busy interviewing the cat. He picked up a stick of chalk and drew a smiley face on the driveway, next to the boy’s sunglasses-wearing sun. “What happened after that?”

The boy, Jason, tugged on the strap of his overalls. “I asked Cindy to fix him. She used glitter glue.”

“Huh,” Dean said, and then didn’t get much further. “Well, thanks, buddy.”

He pushed himself to his feet, ignored the cracking of his joints as he did so, and wandered over to Cas and the prime witness. Cas was scratching behind the prime witness’ ears, and the prime witness was purring.

“Hey,” said Dean, and joined in (with the petting, obviously, not the purring). Cas smiled at him. “You get anything?”

“The cat was killed by a Ford Toyota,” said Cas. Mitten’s bell tinkled as he decided Dean and Cas were no longer worth his time, and he jumped down from the ledge, scampering over to Jason instead. “He was then subsequently resurrected through an act of witchcraft by the boy’s sister.”

Dean puffed air out of his cheeks. “Fucking witches.”

“Quite,” said Cas, his mouth quirking. “That marks the second spell that worked when it shouldn’t have. These teenagers have far more information than they should.”

“You reckon someone’s teaching ‘em?”

They fell into step as they walked away from Jason and Cindy’s house, the fabric of Cas’ coat brushing Dean’s shoulder. Dean idly wondered about lunch, and put a hand on Cas’ elbow to steer him in the direction of the diner rather than the car. Cas followed without skipping a beat.

“Perhaps. If we could gather information on the two girls, we might find out who had the opportunity to show them the spells. They’re about the same age; they might’ve shared friends.”

Dean nodded, mulling this over. “Good idea, man. So, we’re looking for a witch who’s, what? Trying to stir up trouble by giving girls legit spells? Stuff way beyond their years?”

“It seems the most likely conclusion,” Cas said. “The girls enact the spells, not really believing they’ll work, and then the next thing in the newspaper is that Willow Trout is missing, and Boris is no longer dearly departed. Although, of course, Boris’ return was not so widely celebrated.”

Dean held the door open for him, guiding him into the diner even though Cas was, like, a skyscraper’s worth of celestial intent who didn’t need Dean to push him around, but just let him anyway. But Dean wasn’t thinking about that. He never did. “Who’s Boris?”

“The cat,” said Cas, matter of fact.

“I thought it was Mittens.”

“Yes, but he prefers Boris.”

Dean laughed, and then they’d sat themselves down and ordered lunch, and Dean had flirted with the waitress while Cas rolled his eyes across the table and scrolled through the girls’ Facebook pages. Cas was somehow more adept at this than Dean, which kind of offended him.

“Claire showed me,” Cas said when Dean asked, looking pleased, and Dean found he didn’t actually mind at all. He was having a great week.

Of course, that was yesterday. That was before they discovered both girls liked the same jewellery shop (one of those ‘new age’ ones with overpriced stones in them and books about aligning your chakras, and stuff), and before Dean had returned to Willow Trout’s house, and tried to bring her back from fucking Narnia. And then wound up in it himself.

Witches. Witches and Dean’s own fucking stupidity, that's who's to blame.

But anyway, yeah, that was yesterday, and now Dean’s lying flat on his back in the fucking woods, and his jaw hurts from where he got punched, and he’s pretty content to just lie here and catch his breath for two fucking minutes, which is of course when somebody trips over him in the dark.

“Ow!” cries Dean’s own voice, and Dean himself rolls his eyes near to the back of his head before a knife is suddenly at his throat, his chest under his own knee. When he tells all this to Sam, he thinks, he’s just gonna start skipping over these bits, especially if they’re all going to happen the same. His other self takes some convincing, he embarrasses himself with the Rhonda Hurley story, and it’s just like, ugh, _change the fucking record already_. He gets dragged back to Other Dean’s motel, and then he decides that he likes this version of himself the best (out of the one’s he’s met so far, and not including himself, because, _hello_ , he’s the original), because the first thing Other Dean does is call Cas.

“Castiel? Yeah, I got a weird situation here, I think you’ll wanna be involved.”

Dean is so goddamned relieved to see Cas that it isn’t even funny. His whole freaking heart gives out just to see him in his stupid trenchcoat, all backlit in neon through the motel’s curtains. Other Dean explains Dean’s story, and Castiel stares at him in a way that makes him feel kind of weird, but not the usual weird. This is unpleasant. He feels like a bug under the microscope, and shifts on his feet.

“It is certainly a version of your soul,” says Cas, considering. He pokes Dean in the jaw, the hollow of his cheek. “And it _was_ raised by me from perdition. It carries my grace.”

He doesn’t even sound _concerned_. Dean bristles, and glares at him.

“Stop calling me ‘it’, dude,” says Dean, and bats his hand away. Or, he tries. Cas completely ignores him, keeps his hand right where it is, like he’s Thor’s hammer. It’s like hitting concrete; all Dean gets is a stinging palm. Other Dean is wide-eyed.

“Dude,” he says. “Are you fucking insane?”

“What?” says Dean, even as he wrings out his hand. “It’s just Cas.”

Other Dean’s eyes bug.

“Hm,” says Castiel. He’s crackling with an energy reminiscent of their early days, which is creepy now that Dean notices it, especially because it doesn’t _look_ like their early days. “I should take you to Zachariah.”

It’s Dean’s turn, now, to recoil. “Uh, woah, hey, how about no? What freakin’ year is it?”

That’s rhetorical, although maybe it shouldn’t be, actually. Castiel’s eyes narrow even further. “Your tone implies a significant diversion between our reality and your own. This could be valuable information for heaven.”

Dean sticks his neck out. “ _Pardon?”_

It is— _deeply_ fucking unnerving that Cas doesn’t seem to care just one jot about the fact that Dean obviously could not want to go anywhere less. He’s unrelenting; the air crackles and spits, and he’s gearing up to just punch Dean in the forehead with his fingers, Dean can _tell_ , so he tries to cool it, puts his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay,” he says, aiming for calm and landing about a mile south. “Okay, let’s just— just calm down, buddy, alright? Chill.”

He clasps Cas’ shoulder, who stays steely-stiff under his touch. There is zero warmth in his gaze, which stings. Dean wants to go home.

“I am at a perfectly adequate temperature,” Cas says, and then Dean lurches into the next world before he can even roll his eyes.

***

The next four worlds are pretty run of the mill. He and Sam are still hunting monsters, and Cas is in three of them, which is nice. He’s weird and kind of stony, but Dean’ll take that over the next Anna he comes across. She’s human in that one, hunting with him and Sam, and apparently _she_ was the one who fell for Dean, not Cas. Which, that’s fine. Whatever. He definitely doesn’t spend twenty minutes watching her and Other Dean and trying to work out what the fuck went wrong.

It is really fucking disconcerting that they’re banging. He tries to ignore that bit.

The fifth world Dean ricochets into is pretty much that apocalypse one Zachariah showed him all those years ago, and that sucks. Other Dean is cold, he’s angry, and Cas is even more whacked out than last time. He didn’t think a drugged up, orgy-having Cas could get any worse, but apparently he _can_ , because there’s still something fucking _missing_.

“I don’t understand, man,” says Dean, since at least this Cas is keeping him company. He’s cuffed in Other Dean’s cabin, and he hasn’t bothered trying to get out, since he’ll probably be gone in like an hour, anyway. Cas is sitting cross-legged in front of him, pupils blown from all the drugs in his system, and he’s periodically killing and reviving this cockroach he’s trapped in a jar. Dean feels kind of sorry for the poor son of a bitch. Do cockroaches have a heaven?

“The future you saw with Zachariah was one of the futures for _your_ world,” says Cas, bored. “Worlds are spawned from infinite numbers of choices, Dean. This world may have come from one made in yours, or it may have come from a choice made long before you were even born. Of course,” Cas laughs, amused with himself, “your world may also have spawned from a choice made _here_. Infinite, you see?”

Dean stares at him. He’s got this weird, Frankenstein look about him, and Dean hates it. “Dude, what the _fuck_ happened to you?”

Cas grins. “I fell. Heaven was, um, _displeased_ with my actions.”

“Okay, sure,” says Dean. “But I _know_ you, man. You fell in my world, too, and you sure as hell didn’t turn into this. What did you _do?”_

“I had doubts,” says Cas, and kills the cockroach again. “That I chose not to act on them seemed to make little difference.”

“You—what? What do you mean, you didn’t act on them?”

Cas looks up. His hair is greasy, stringy, and it hangs over his eyes. He smells like weed. Dean misses the fucking trenchcoat.

“I followed my orders.”

“What the _fuck?_ _Why?_ They were _wrong_.”

Cas blinks at him. Then he looks back down at the cockroach, and presses his fingertip to its head, breathing whatever is left of his shaky grace into it. It scuttles to life, head-butting the jar with such force that it trips over itself and lands on its back. Dean identifies with the sentiment way more than he’s comfortable with. “I’d forgotten you used to be like this.”

“Like _what?_ ”

“Righteous. Noble. Indignant. Stubborn, if you prefer.”

He says it with such scorn that Dean can’t help it. “I thought you were meant to _like_ past me,” he bites, and Cas blinks at him.

“Why would I do that?”

It’s said so _genuinely_ , and it fucking _sucks_. Dean’s throat gets kind of thick, so he makes the effort to push that feeling down as far as it’ll go, and then deeper. He buries it right down alongside his dad dying for him, moves his wrist so the handcuff digs into it and he can focus on that instead, and doesn’t say another word. Cas kills the cockroach. He brings it back to life. He does it again, and again, and again.

***

Other Dean and Cas are both interrogating him. For some reason, Dean keeps winding up in realities that aren’t quite up to sync with his actual life. Other Dean always seems to be knee deep in the first apocalypse, trying to get his head around heaven and hell and fucking _angels_ , of all things. There’s been a couple where the bunker’s definitely around, but they’re in the lower percentage. Dean hasn’t figured out why.

“So then Sammy said yes to Lucifer, and leapt into the cage himself. Apocalypse averted.”

“And I… helped with this,” says Cas, slowly, and Dean nods.

“Yeah. I’m telling you, man, heaven’s _wrong_. So much other shit happened after, I don’t even— Naomi? Yeah, trust me, heaven is _not_ where you wanna place your bets.”

Cas squints at him. He’s standing a foot apart from Other Dean, and it’s not like Dean _regularly_ notices how close he and Cas stand, it’s just that he’s gotten used to it after all this time. It’s not _his_ fault Cas didn’t get the memo about personal space, and Dean just decided to stop pushing it. Dean also feels like he shouldn’t even be registering this, because it’s not like he ever sees him and Cas from an outside perspective. He doesn’t have anything to compare it to, so it shouldn’t look so glaringly and obviously _wrong_. It _shouldn’t_. So why the hell does it?

“I don’t believe you,” Castiel says, and Other Dean’s face twitches, his mouth turning down. He’s gone the next instant, and then it’s just Dean and himself left staring at each other.

“Jesus,” says Dean. “Is he always this much of a dick?”

Other Dean snorts, almost bitter. “Yeah. But, hey, your Cas is less of one, huh? Good for you.”

Dean’s out of there before he can figure out what that means.

***

The next one is a weird one.

Like, even for Dean’s standards, it’s weird. And this is coming from a guy who’s travelled in time.

He guesses he was bound to wind up in at least _one_ world that was fundamentally different from his own, because if what Cas said is true, then every single choice made by every single person ever sparks its own little parallel world. Then you get the choices upon choices, and the choices upon choices upon choices, going on forever and ever. Most of those choices probably only add up in small differences— kind of like that time Balthazar saved the Titanic, and Dean ended up with a Mustang instead of Baby, that kind of thing. That makes sense, to Dean at least, and it explains why he keeps running into versions of himself whose lives run fairly parallel to his. He’s cool with this bit.

But, okay, let’s say that while three quarters of all the worlds are more or less the same as his own, the rest are all totally whack-a-doo. They’re the ones where the choices stack up upon choices, and keep spawning their own little fucked up realities forever and ever. Even though they’re only a quarter of the total worlds, a quarter of infinity is still infinity, right? He’s bound to land in one eventually. Or, something like that. Cas said it better.

“What the hell?” says Dean, when he falls into one such world, and tries desperately not to scream, because it’s instantly so _different._ It’s terrifying. Somebody jostles him as they push past, and then so does somebody else, and Christ, Dean hasn’t been in an actual city in _years_ , and this is so much worse, like Times Square on steroids. He grapples around for something, literally _anything_ from his own world that he can grab onto, and settles on _I, Robot_. He’s in a fucking Will Smith movie. There are people, loads and loads of _people_ , and there are robots.

“Hey, move it,” grunts a man or an android or _something_ with shiny bits on his face, and Dean stumbles to get the hell out of the way. It’s too bright, there are so many fucking _lights_ , and there’s fucking— flying cars. There are fucking cars flying overhead. 

“Oh, hey, Dean,” says Sam conversationally, appearing at his side like a fucking _angel_. Dean stares at him, feels his jaw drop, and Sam grins. “Hey, good to meet you, man. Dean’s back home, but I can take you to him, if you want.”

“Uh,” says Dean. “What.”

Sam nods commiseratively, like this conversation makes a single lick of sense. “First time, huh? I get it. But hey, no worries, we’ll get you sorted. Hold on.”

He takes Dean’s arm, hits something on his fucking, uh, _space watch_ , and Dean _teleports_. He _teleports_. Into a _living room_.

And yeah, alright, Dean’s done it with angels, but this is, you know. _Teleportation_. He can excuse acts of god, he draws the line at technological shit.

“Oh, hey, dude,” says Other Dean, and raises his beer. At least there’s still beer. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Dean’s head is spinning. He reaches out for the closest possible thing he can latch onto and finds that it’s a couch, red vinyl and fitting right in with the whole _Jetsons_ theme going on. He’s gonna be sick.

“Hi,” he says, weakly. Sam hands him a drink, which Dean takes, obviously. It’s pretty good. Expensive. Maybe Dean should stop drinking cheap whiskey, if the alternative is this stuff.

“So,” Sam says, “tell us about your world.”

“Fuck,” says Dean. His other self just settles into the couch and kicks up his feet, like this is a perfectly regular occurrence. “How about we start with how you know that’s why I’m here?”

Sam frowns. “What are you talking about? This is Earth 108.”

If this is an explanation, Dean’s not getting it. He blinks at him, feeling dumb. “Sam, I have no idea what the fuck that means.”

“But,” says Sam, “You’re from 386, aren’t you?”

Which is how Dean finds out that, _apparently_ , in this world they’re so technologically hopped up that they can just bounce around between realities. It is _so_ fucking messed up.

He tries, but he can’t even begin to pinpoint the choice that might’ve caused their worlds to split this drastically. Even just being here hurts his head. Sam is, of course, fascinated, because he’s still a giant geek no matter the universe, but that’s only a small comfort, at this point.

“Okay, okay,” says Other Dean, eventually. “Leave me alone, Jesus.”

Christianity. Excellent. This is probably the one time Dean’s ever been excited to hear about it. He latches onto it instantly, and also Other Dean’s arm.

“Dude,” he says, “Please fucking tell me you know who Castiel is.”

“Castiel?” says Other Dean, surprised. “Yeah, man, obviously. He pulled me outta hell. _You_ know Castiel?”

Dean sinks back into the couch. “Yeah,” he says. “Hey, could you, like, call him? I wanna talk to someone who knows what it’s like to exist without flying cars.”

Other Dean laughs. “Yeah, okay. Hey, Cas, radio in, buddy.”

Cas pops up, and Dean nearly sobs in relief. He doesn’t even stop an overanalyse that feeling, thinking he can excuse it as extenuating circumstances, because, hello, this is the equivalent to dropping a neanderthal in Dean’s modern day world, handing it an iPhone and telling it to go wild. Not that Dean’s the neanderthal. Or maybe he fucking is. It’s just a lot. A real hell of a lot.

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” says Dean, having dragged Cas out onto Other Dean’s balcony. They live in some kind of skyscraper thing, and Dean can’t even see the horizon for all the buildings and billboards, but the fresh air is nice. “Dude, I just wanna go home.”

Cas quirks a small smile. How the fuck is it that it’s _this_ Cas who is most like Dean’s own? He steps up to the view. “I imagine this must be very overwhelming for you.”

“You got no idea,” says Dean, and leans his elbows on the railing. A car whizzes past below him, and he feels sick. “I—hey, can we— is there somewhere that’s like, a garden? Or just—something? Without people? That we could go to?”

Cas cocks his head, thinking. “I believe I know a place. Here.”

He raises two fingers to Dean’s forehead, and Dean leans in instinctively, eyes falling shut and releasing a deep breath from his lungs. Cas hesitates, just briefly, almost like he’s surprised, and then Dean feels the tell-tale stomach lurch as Cas mojos them out of there. Wherever it is, it’s _quiet_ , and that’s an instant fucking relief.

Dean drops to the ground on his weak knees, this whole freaking thing catching up to him, and just breathes. When he eventually opens his eyes, it’s to find that Cas has planted them in a desert. The sun’s blinding, but at least there’s not hide nor hair of any robots or flying cars.

“Thank fuck,” Dean says, and sinks further into the hot sand. “That was way too Michael J. Fox for me. Thanks, Cas.”

“This is the emptiest place on Earth,” says Cas, almost awkwardly. “It is probably still unlike what you are used to, but you requested ‘no people’, so—”

“It’s fine,” says Dean, almost giddy. “God, it’s great.”

He tilts his head up to the sun, shading his eyes with his arm and feeling a smile carve itself into his cheeks. “Dude, stop standing over me.”

It takes him a second, but then Cas complies, and sits down in the sand. His movements are odd, jerky, like he doesn’t spend much time in Jimmy’s vessel, certainly not enough for it to become a sort of home. That kind of disappoints Dean, for some reason. He knows he’ll probably never get his head properly around the fact that Cas’ body is basically the celestial equivalent of a finger puppet, but he still likes to think that the body grounds him. He’d like there to be _something_ tying him to Earth.

They sit for a while, longer than Dean expects. Eventually, Cas says: “May I… ask you something?”

“Sure,” says Dean. “Go for it, buddy.”

“Earlier, you anticipated my action. That I would tap your forehead. You expected it.”

Dean gives him a smile. “Wasn’t my first rodeo. Far from it, actually.”

“Ah,” says Cas. “You seemed— to trust it.”

“Well, yeah,” says Dean, kind of surprised at how easily it comes out. “It’s you, man. You’re family.”

Cas’ head jerks up. He looks at Dean intently, but Dean can’t quite work out why. Surely it can’t be the first time Cas has heard that. _Cas_ might be different in every universe, but Dean can’t imagine…

“Okay, my turn,” he says. “So this is, like, the first world I’ve been in where it’s unrecognisable to my own. You got any idea about that? All the others have just been, like, the same but slightly to the left.”

Cas ponders. “If I had to guess,” he says, “I’d say that you are being drawn to those that most closely resemble your world. The human body is not designed for inter-dimensional travel, and the spell you were victim of pales in comparison to the power of the universe. The more things changed, the farther you would have to travel. Put simply, Dean, you likely just don’t have the horse-power.”

Dean beams at him.

“Dude!” he says, joyful. “That’s almost a joke.”

Cas looks pleased. Dean nudges him with his shoulder, and although it takes a second, eventually Cas gives in and allows himself to be moved.

“But,” says Dean, frowning, “that doesn’t make sense. I mean, it does for the rest of them, but what about this? This world is— _way_ off base, man.”

Cas shrugs. It looks awkward on him, and Dean feels a wave of endearment wash over him, the same way it does whenever Cas does something overly human. He looks back over the desert to hide his smile.

“Well, perhaps there’s something else in this world that mirrors your own. Your relationship to Sam, perhaps.”

“You,” says Dean, instantly, and then turns red. Cas’ gaze, when he turns it on him, is piercing. Dean is reminded very acutely that he is An Angel of the Fucking Lord. “I mean, uh. You’re a pretty close version of my Cas, I mean. The closest I’ve met.”

“Oh,” says Castiel. “I see.”

“Yeah,” says Dean, feeling kind of embarrassed. But then, because he’s never gonna see this Castiel again, he sighs, and keeps going. “God, I miss you so fucking much, dude. I know it’s been less than a day, but I _really_ want to go home. I’ve got a case to solve. You’re probably getting worried.”

Actually, that’s an alarming fucking thought. Is the time Dean passes jumping around realities the same as the time passing back home? Has he been gone ten hours without a trace? A new horror occurs to him: Cas wouldn’t just fucking jump in after him, would he?

“Angels don’t worry,” says Castiel, and Dean scoffs. He has a _wealth_ of evidence that says otherwise.

“Well, you do,” he snaps, and he’s on the verge of discovering something, he really is, because it’s so fucking _simple_ , but then he’s tossed out of the desert like a ragdoll, into another brave new world.

If this one has robots, Dean’s gonna fucking kill someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loads of references in this... im a newbie to spn lore so idk whats common knowledge or not, but cas and the cockroach was ben edlund's (i think?) original idea for cas in 5x04 the end :-) excellent fucking concept


End file.
